Take off your shirt
by Sleeping-Draught
Summary: The blush on her cheeks only clarified the blood rushing through Hermione's veins, feeding her heart and powering her body. She was a functioning human being— breathing right in front of Fred. She was alive, and so was he.


Her hands lightly touched his face, feeling every inch of his features. Fingertips tracing over his many freckles, Fred watched Hermione as she concentrated, eyes darting to each dark spot that lingered on his cheekbones, no doubt counting them. She was beautiful, perfect in every way, and even here, sitting in one of her over-sized jumpers and shorts too short for his comfort, hair tied up into a messy bun, Hermione Granger looked like an angel that descended from the heavens.

Her scent intoxicated him, filling his whole being as she scooted closer. However, as she rested a hand on his shoulder and accidently put a bit of pressure on it, he hissed in pain but frantically tried to cover his actions. Dammit, he lost his guard.

Not even a year since the war was over and miraculously surviving a terrible accident (thanks to the help of one _Miss Brightest Witch of Her Age_); Fred narrowly escaped with only a few scratches and bruises, but a terrible wound on his shoulder.

His muscles ached the most there, and the witch in front of him just so happen to press down on the tender skin.

"Fred, I'm so sorry!" She was quick to apologise, pulling back and managing some space between the two. He felt her loss, the comforting heat of her body causing a great impact on him. He needed her to be closer.

"'Mione, please, don't get upset over this," He began reaching towards her and hoping she would come back to sit on his lap.

"I didn't know it still hurt, I thought the medication had healed you… You haven't complained about your shoulder in quite a while…" The look of concern pained Fred terribly, her eyebrows where knitted so tightly and she watched his shoulder carefully, as if her gaze could hurt him.

"Yeah, about that…" Bringing a hand to scratch the back of his head, Fred averted his gaze, with great effort, from Hermione. "I'm not healed like everyone things..." He waited for some type of reaction but nothing came. She wanted him to elaborate and Fred could tell by the confused expression she held.

"I've been telling people that my shoulder has healed and that it's better, but it's really not, 'Mione. Every day it seems to get worse, even with the medication the healer gave me, and I'm so damn scared." He sucked on the inside of his lip, feeling his confession finally slipping away. Not even George knew about how much he wanted to fake his recovery.

"I just want things to go back to normal, I want to lift boxes at work like I used to! I can't even work the till for Merlin's sake; my back and shoulder get too sore from standing up for hours!" He opened his mouth to speak more but Hermione shushed him with her hand, having it lift up in the air.

"Take off your shirt," She demanded, lips pursed tightly.

In other situations, maybe during another time, Fred would gladly comply with Hermione's command. In fact, he would happily _rip_ off his shirt just so he wouldn't waste time unbuttoning it. However, he knew what lingered beneath the fabric and it was something he would want to shield from the witch in front of him.

She was beautiful, practically flawless, and here he was before Christine herself, acting like the Phantom.

"I can't, Hermione."

His response is what took her mostly by surprise, not her sudden outburst. "Fred I wan't to give you a back massage, please take off your shirt."

"Hermione, I can't. My scars aren't something I want you to see. They're ugly, absolutely revolting, and I don't want anyone to witness them." Fred knew the pain he dealt with every day, waking up in the morning and looking at himself in the mirror, expecting his chiselled complexion but finding a half-normal body with a monstrous informality leaking on his shoulder.

He was uncomfortable with his body.

Ironic, the Weasley Twin having self-conscious thoughts about himself. Nearly half a year ago he could happily gloat about his handsome charms and glowing features, showing full pride in his appearance.

Again, Hermione seemed to surprise him once more. At first she looked dangerous, seconds from pouncing on him and slapping some sense into the ginger, but after some thought, she began to pull the jumper over her head and lazily throw it somewhere in the room. She was left in a tank top and Fred shifted painfully.

"You're not the only one with ugly scars." Her voice was low that Fred had to shuffle closer to hear every word. With her head bent, strands of loose hair curtaining over her face, Hermione's eyes trailed over her fingers as they traced something on her arm.

"I'm sure you already know this, but I was harmed back at the Malfoy Manner by Bellatrix." By her choice of words, it seemed like Hermione wanted to make the conversation light, but Fred still felt an anger boil within him. He was glad to know, once he woke from his coma, that his mother defeated the bitch oh-so-badassly. By all means, if she was still alive, he would march straight up to Azkaban and strangle the witch himself— with his bare hands.

He waited for her to continue, not sure as to where the conversation was leading to.

"Not many people know but not only did she terrorise me with her words and a few curses, Bellatrix did engrave something into my arm—" With an uncompleted sentence, she showed him her arm, revealing pink letters scrawled onto her skin. The word 'Mudblood' pulsed up at him, the letters sketching into his brain the more he looked at him. Once he pulled his gaze away, Fred could still see the letters as they floated in the air.

"It's an ugly, fowl word, Fred, but I'm bloody proud of it. I'm proud of being a Mudblood." She looked straight into his eyes, her brows piercing right through his blues. "I carry this as a reminder that I defeated Voldemort, that I escaped the Manor and that I was alive to save you." The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile and Fred took no time in noticing this. His face melted into an expression of shock, mouth slightly open and eyes bulging out. Her words slowly began to touch a part of him, a shock running straight to his heart.

"It's a reminder that I survived as well, that I managed to make it out of this war alive, regardless of my blood status. I helped Harry Potter defeat the most powerful wizard in the world, I tracked down pieces of his soul, knowing they could be hidden anywhere in the world, but we managed to find them all."

Fred slowly reached out, taking her arm in his hand. His thumb slowly brushed along the letters, listening to everything Hermione had to say.

"I want you to listen, and I want you to know that you're beautiful no matter what, Fred Weasley. Some lousy scars aren't going to change anything. They're just a constant reminder that you're still alive and breathing, and that's all that matters."

He didn't realise that her hands had come up to unbutton his shirt, slowly making their way down. Soon enough, Hermione cautiously began to slide the fabric over his shoulders and off his arms, revealing his damaged shoulder.

She didn't flinch at all, in fact, she lightly brushed her fingertips along the pink flesh just like she did with his freckles earlier.

Fred reached over and wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, pulling her on his lap once more, allowing her to trace over his scars. The skin beneath her fingers was so new and very sensitive that her touch seemed amplified by a thousand. He felt everything like never before, and for the first time, it didn't hurt, but left a nice heat behind. A warming heat that reminded him of his existence and that, if it weren't for the woman in his lap, he would be buried deep within the earth's crust right about now.

Leaning closer, Hermione began to pepper the tender muscle with soft kisses, her hand making its way towards his back and delicately massaging the area she knew he had trouble with, the obvious knot beneath her fingers only gave him away.

She received a satisfying moan from the wizard before her, his head bending down to rest on her shoulder. Taking this as a good sign, Hermione used her other hand to equal out the message on his other shoulder, her kisses traveling up his neck until she reached his jaw, deciding to rest her cheek against his while he still rested his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry that you feel this way, Freddie, but it just pains me to hear you say how much you hate your scars. To me, they're beautiful, and I'm just glad you're here right now. I'm glad you're still alive and able to spend time with me."

Hermione always knew what to say.

He pulled back, taking her small hands into his and looking Hermione right in the eyes. Without any words, he leaned forward and pressed his lips tenderly to hers, massaging them gently with his own. She understood the unspoken language, knowing that he was slowly going to try to change his opinion about his body.

Getting lost in his actions, his hand slowly crawled up to cup her cheek, thumb nimbly brushing against the soft skin. He felt the surface beneath his hands heat up and he could only smirk, happy he made Hermione blush.

Slowly pulling back, feeling the loss of her lips, they pressed their foreheads together and listened to their fast breathing.

The breathing that recapped their lives, that drilled this reminder into their brains that they were still alive. They managed to make it out, when others had lost hope, Hermione and Fred had managed to make it out of the war and soon find one another. The blush on her cheeks only clarified the blood rushing through Hermione's veins, feeding her heart and powering her body. She was a functioning human being— _breathing _right in front of Fred. She was alive, and so was he.

His scars didn't seem so bad after all, want matter most was the one important person in his life right now, living and breathing, right in his presence.

"I love you," she whispered, smiling and cuddling close to his body.

"And I love you," He replied, gladly accepting her cuddle and leaning back into the cushion. With great delight, Fred found himself pressing his shoulder into the couch, and surprisingly, he felt nothing.

* * *

**AN**

**So this is my first fanfiction. It's a fremione one-shot and I hope it wasn't too terrible! Comments/Reviews would be nice and appreciated, along with anyone who spotted any mistakes/misspellings, please do let me know! **

**As always, I do not own these characters. They're the beautiful creations of JK Rowling, and I can't even come remotely close to imagining up characters like Fred and Hermione. **

**Thank you!**

**x Kass**


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